The Birthday Power Trip

Hi, dear readers. Did you have a good weekend? My birthday was Saturday, and it was lovely. We didn’t have any huge plans, mostly because I was simply drunk on power. Just the knowledge that I could make my husband, kids, and parents do whatever I wanted was enough for me.

I asked for nothing. My husband wanted me to ask for a rain jacket so I will stop stealing his extra jacket the one time every two years that we happen to be out in the rain (he holds grudges, apparently), but I didn’t ask for anything.* I could have slept late, but instead we got up early to help with a service project. I could have requested that we drive into the city to go to my favorite Thai restaurant, but instead we saw the new James Bond movie and ate pizza. I could have asked for an ice cream cake, but instead I selflessly baked my own birthday cakes (yes, plural). Ah, the supreme control spent on goodness for the family.

The power trip wore off by 4:00 p.m. when I started craving fine leather goods and lemongrass, but whatever. Then it was time for wine.

Family and friends gave me some fun and thoughtful gifts—they’re sweet! I have to share one of the gifts with you: my mom helped my 10-year-old daughter craft a beautiful box out of paint and molded clay.

Isn’t this pretty?

I was almost choked up with tears of joy from the thoughtfulness, but there was more. My daughter insisted that I open the box.

Cue the sarcastic horror music and laugh track. If anyone searches “decapitated head” and finds this humor blog, I think they’ll be disappointed.

This surprise decapitated Barbie head was good for multiple laughs throughout the day, and I have a feeling she’ll show up in someone’s Christmas present.

I love humor gifts, and this one reminded me of another funny gift. I used to—and still do—keep a healthy supply of restaurant napkins in my glove compartment. One of my favorite gifts ever was when my college roomies went around to every fast food restaurant near the campus and collected napkins for my truck. Who knew Wendy’s napkins could be so thoughtful and hilarious?

Hmm. I guess you had to be there.

Well, I’m over this low maintenance birthday thing. The power trip alone no longer works because right now I have to wash the cake stands from my birthday cakes that I made. Yep, I become high maintenance starting NOW. I hereby demand ice cream cake, Thai food, and genuine leather goods forno good reason.

What’s your ideal birthday—or for those among you who are also high maintenance—your ideal regular day?

*Further explanation: My husband owns a water-repellent jacket and an official rain jacket. Once every two years, he lets me borrow his official rain jacket because it’s the smaller of the two. He’s nice about it, but it secretly drives him crazy. Both jackets are ugly, so I don’t know why he cares. I can only figure that he’s a rules guy, and it’s important to him that he is wearing Official Waterproof Fabric in the drizzle. And he’s willing to spend big money so I can have an official rain jacket of my very own. WE PRACTICALLY LIVE IN THE DESERT. But, guess what? After my birthday—after he had given me a non-waterproof present because I refused his rain jacket overtures—I found the perfect pink rain jacket at an outlet store and purchased it. My husband practically thanked me for spending money on what I consider to be a frivolous item. There’s a lesson in here somewhere, ladies. Please don’t use it for too much evil.

6 Comments

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY!!!
I see that your daughter has my sense of humor. That was an amazing present! I laughed SO hard when I saw the head in the box…

My “perfect” birthday would probably consist of brunch with the family (anything covered in bacon) followed by amazing presents and the day off. Definitely to include dinner/drinks out with the girls.
Unfortunately, I get kids jumping on me at the crack of dawn to give my eyes paper-cuts with too many (adorable) hand-made cards and I make all the meals while the kids argue. Good times!

I am single without kids so I don’t have to worry about being woken up at the crack of dawn on my birthday. Oh wait, my sister calls me when she gets up for work, she’s a school bus driver so she’s up absurdly early (I’m a massage therapist so I sleep absurdly late) to sing Happy Birthday to me.

My ideal birthday is the one where I get to be the center of attention and my family doesn’t talk about how much I love to be the center of attention. And I get to interrupt people without taking any crap for it – I’m 49 people, you should be used to it by now.

Angela! I love this! One of the reasons I love your blog posts so much is that so many of them bring back oddly-related memories from my past. The beautiful box your daughter made, with the bonus prize of the decapitated head reminded me about how beautiful things can be tainted and ruined in such surprisingly satisfying ways. Your story reminded me of a guy who was in a private art class I was part of in third grade. He was a gifted 8-year-old artist, who prodigiously produced beautiful landscape paintings of the highest caliber for a boy his age. But, invariably–and by that, I mean EVERY TIME–just when you thought he was finished and the painting could not be improvised upon, he would add 4 or 5 dead and bloody gophers and a tornado to each pastoral scene. The art teacher–a soft-spoken gentle soul–would lament the ruinous revisions every time, but he was never deterred. The thing is, I loved the tornados and dead gophers–they were so wonderfully…beautiful…I now imagine this young artist to have grown up to be the producer and director of these new Sears commercials, where the young good-looking couple are running running to get somewhere fast (probably to a sale item at Sears–I can’t remember!) and suddenly run into a 10-ten refrigerator at full speed and crumple to the ground. It’s so violently beautiful…the dead gophers live in TV promotion, probably garnering him millions in advertising creative fees. Anywhoo…may your holidays be filled with more strangely-beautiful bloody barbie heads. Amen.

Hi! Thanks for visiting!

I'm Angela, but you can call me Ang, Tall Curly Biscuit, or TCB. If you're over the age of 70, you may claim dementia and call me Big Curly; otherwise, you risk getting punched in the face. I never got over that kid in high school calling me "Thunder Thighs" in the disturbing and vulgar note in which he asked me out. He was just learning English, but still.

I like to laugh at almost everything, and much to my husband's continual concern, I enjoy being your circus clown. Follow me on the the great and mighty Internet so we can stay connected!